


Loverly

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why ISN'T Sandburg somewhere warm, dry, safe, sunny and warm? One possible answer.  Okay--the ONLY answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loverly

## Loverly

by Jantique

Pet Fly having abandoned them, Jim and Blair, like Lincoln, now belong to the ages. 

Lyrics to "Loverly from "My Fair Lady by Alan Jay Lerner. 

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Disclaimer: Pet Fly having abandoned them, Jim and Blair, like Lincoln, now belong to the ages. Lyrics to "Loverly" from "My Fair Lady" by Alan Jay Lerner. 

**LOVERLY**

by Jantique Fielding 

All I want is a room somewhere  
Far away from the cold night air  
With one enormous chair--  
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? 

I _hate_ cold. I mean, I can _adapt_ , right? Throughout the ages, different cultures have adapted to whatever climactic and environmental conditions they found themselves in. Like how the Inuit have I-forget-how-many different words for snow, while the Chopec have zero words for snow, zilch, but they have fourteen different words to describe the growing stages of a plant, whether it's immature, fertile, ripe, et cetera. Now in Cascade, by rights there ought to be a _hundred_ and fourteen words for rain. Rush hour downpour, camping weekend monsoon, drenching with icy wind, flood-your-transmission cloudburst, Graduation-day-in-MAY freezing deluge. (Did I mention I hate the cold?) So, you may ask--and I often have--what am I DOING here? 

Well, Rainier U. is a good school. Rumor has it the Marketing School sucks, but they have excellent social sciences, particularly Anthropology, my baby. Although, let's face it, I've been here, been doing that for nigh on sixteen years now. I would've been out of here long ago if I hadn't run into this guy who just happened to be the _embodiment_ of my dissertation. I gotta admit, at first I didn't really see him as a _person_ , more as a test subject, someone to test my theories on. In my own self-defense, at first he didn't _act_ much like a person, at least like any of the people I knew! But as different as we were, and despite all the frustrations and aggravations on both sides, he took me in. He _wanted_ me to be there! I can't tell you what that means to me. 

Lots of chocolates for me to eat,  
Lots of coal making lots of heat,  
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet,  
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? 

So forget every cop show you've ever seen on TV. This is one glamorous job--NOT. If nothing else, it's dirty and expensive. Laundry and replacement clothing alone--I'm lucky to be able to wear the same outfit twice. It's really hard to get blood out, you know? Gunshot holes, forget about! Then, of course, there's skin, blood and organ replacement. The first case I had with Ellison, the city nearly got blown up. The first time I went down to station--oh, man! Scary, man, really scary. And you never get over that fear, not quite. At least I don't. "Stay in the truck, Sandburg!"--that's Detective Ellison's mantra. But I'm his backup; he needs me. Besides, Jim's truck is NOT necessarily the safest place to be. Have you ever seen his car insurance bills? Talk about scary! 

So, if I'm lucky, we're sitting in the truck on a nice, quiet, boring stakeout, with the motor off, freezing our buns off, sharing tepid coffee from a thermos, talking about everything and nothing. It's probably raining. He's alertly watching the suspects and talking to me, so I know he's not zoning, while I think about the pile of papers I need to grade and the lecture I have to write before 9:00 tomorrow morning. And if we're lucky, we sit there and shiver until Rafe and Brown relieve us, and the bust goes down on someone else's watch. 

Oh, so loverly sitting abso-bloomin'-lutely still. I would never budge till Spring crept over my windowsill. 

If we're not lucky, then roll the opening credits of the Exciting Police Drama--tires squealing, red lights flashing in the night, cops exchanging gunfire with the perps--ouch! and _damn_! You know, perps should _not_ be allowed to carry guns. I know that sounds dumb, but I firmly believe it. I can understand basic greed, but people who are too stupid to give up when they're surrounded should _not_ have access to lethal weapons, endangering themselves and the lives of others--the cops, who are _all_ Guardians of the Great City, and innocent bystanders and Observers, such as Your Truly. I don't _need_ this for my diss. So what am I doing here? 

Someone's head resting on my knee,  
Warm and tender as he can be,  
Who take good care of me.  
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? 

So we finally drag ourselves home at dead-o'clock-in-the-morning, leaving all the paperwork, police and otherwise, until tomorrow, which is really later today. Exhausted as we are, we're both wound-up, too filled with unused adrenaline and nervous energy to sleep. I make us a couple of cups of chamomile tea (honey in Jim's), and we plop down on the couch. He puts Dvorak's "New World" symphony on the CD, volume low, and we try to unwind. Sure enough, half a cup of tea later, I have the head of one slightly snoring Sentinel in my lap. I could wake him and push him up the stairs. I _could_ , except . . . this is nice. He protects me all the time, but just now he's trusting me to take care of him. And I will. Just as soon as . . . mmm. I carefully reach over him to put my cup on the table, then lean back, wriggle a little to get comfortable, close my eyes and settle down to sleep. Oops! Forgot the most important part. I lean forward, aiming for his cheek, but settle for his forehead. Carefully, not to wake him, I kiss him goodnight and stroke his hair. "Goodnight, Jim. Love ya. See you in a couple hours." He sleepily turns and sniffs my hair, where it falls against his face, so he'll take the scent of it to dreamland with him. He mutters something intelligible, sighs and drifts off again. I smile--no translation necessary. 

Like I said. Loverly. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

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Loverly Page 2 06/21/99

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End Loverly by Jantique: Jantique@webtv.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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